


Infinity Train: Corginia - A Land of Dream

by SirSpoder



Series: Infinity Train [2]
Category: Infinity Train (Cartoon)
Genre: Cosmic significance, Gen, Godheads, Gods, Infinity, Metafiction, Multiverse, Mystery, cosmic horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 04:24:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19221529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirSpoder/pseuds/SirSpoder
Summary: Atticus, King of Corginia takes a walk by the shore of his kingdom.





	Infinity Train: Corginia - A Land of Dream

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Infinity Train, nor do I own any of the characters from the original pilot and the show. This is just a FANFICTION. Infinity Train is a future cartoon that belongs to the brilliant man Owen Dennis. I strongly recommend you to go watch the Pilot Infinity Train and support this show.

Across the river crying down these green pastures was a land none had ever seen before. The land where monsters resided. These massive monsters would cast their shadows over the land, over Atticus’s kingdom, swallowing them all beneath a grip of darkness where no creature could escape from. The only choice they had was submission.

They would often hide in their homes where the darkness would not follow them. In a certain sense, they were right. Inside their temples, their haven of refuge, the corgis of the land could be hidden away in peace, and to stay there long enough until the threat of the monsters subsided.

What their tiny mortal minds did not understand however was that the darkness of monsters could reach into the Beyond. In ways beings of the low could barely comprehend. In the darkest recesses of their minds, during times of fear and terror lurking behind the stones of their temples, there they would find the darkness that crept up from behind and into their everyday life. It followed them, through their lives, into their Dreams, during moments of Sadness and lonely thoughts. The shadows were there to haunt their minds.

When the corgis slept and Dreamt of a better tomorrow, a future kingdom, it was only the monsters that they saw.

There were times in his life Atticus understood this, there were times he understood this better than anyone. He never wished that knowledge on any of his family, not even his loyal subjects.

Other times he could not be more oblivious. In a different time, in a different place, he felt bliss in his ignorance. And yet still longing for that curious knowledge, wondering across the river crying down these green pastures what the land none had ever seen before looked like. An inevitable curiosity, no matter the difference in time, or in place. It was amusing how Fate worked, the infinite quirks existing in a space above infinite layers of comprehension.

Out here in Corginia he felt strong grasps on his mind, his soul. Voices in the deeper parts of his heart that may have suggested something bigger outside of Corginia. By day the hands of Fate would beckon him, echoing from across the river right there on the other side. But alas, the water was deep, and the currents were too strong. The beckoning was tempting, but for all practical purposes, Atticus simply told himself to wait for the advances of knowledge and technology at the end of every sunset. It was the logical thing to do. For his kingdom and his family awaited his return from the shore.

And yet by night, he was visited by Dream, Dreams of the land across the river, Dreams of the shadow cast down from the monsters. Or maybe just monster, he wondered whether there were many out there.

The corgi king asked in Dream what was the meaning of everything he saw. He sought after the importance of his longing and the inconsistencies in his character. He asked how he could transform by mere factors such as time and location. And yet each night Dream was silent, Dream did not give Atticus the answer he sought.

Dream only showed him visions of things he could not understand. Three floating heads drifting afar in the center of deep space. A deep space where there was nothing, where stars could not explode, and black holes could not swallow. A place where neither light nor dark existed. Only the three heads.

The first head was round, carved down the middle a dividing line, as if purposefully dividing the head into two, and yet it was not two separate heads. The eyes were blank just like a canvas, staring beyond into a void where nothing ever was and all that will be. In its eyes, it saw the universe. Seeing time and space as one, where the past, present and future had no distinction, and all that ever was lied inside the vision of this head. The eyes were practical eyes, it only saw the linear progression even though time and space were one, and everything was in its view. And yet to the round head, it tore down intricacies and nuances to visualize a mere two axes. One axis in one eye oversaw the visions of happiness, the joys of the world and the laughter of the universe. The other oversaw the other part, the sorrows of the soul and the cries of the damned, eternally alone to be tormented by pain and grief. The universe was large, impossible to comprehend and be explained, but this head’s powers were vast, as such it was able to condense infinite layers into two parts. Whatever was not in the former was in the latter.

The second head was a curious one, it had many faces, billions, trillions, uncountable, and yet all those faces were one face, a singularity. It thought of things that could not be, it did things that was impossible, and it existed in a place that was nonsense. And yet it was anyway. It was, it is, it will be. The faces were crafty, some of them were mischievous, others a bit more sinister, some even evil. But there were good ones, too. Benevolent, and hopeful, faces of a hero – all equal and yet untrue at the same time. The head was a machine, it was the self, built and designed to only look out for itself and nothing else. But the machine was also a book, ever evolving. The pages inside was it, and it was everything. It was a book that had yet to exist, and yet still existed. Because the thrills of the heart and adventures beat too fast, the screams of thousands Beyond the void, the screams of celebration, the screams of thoughts and speculation all came crashing through. So it had to evolve, grow and turn the next page – even when it had yet to exist. This head was once crafty, and dangerous. Now it had grown stronger and good.

The third, and final head, the one at the center of everything was empty, and yet it was there. The head was there. One would not be able to see or touch it. It existed, but there was nothing, because it was symbolic, representing the nothingness, the very essence of antithesis itself, the negative zone. One would be tempted to say this was Dream itself, for Dream was the fabric of non-existence, everything not contained in reality. But this was not Dream, not the force that drove existence and non-existence outwards and inwards, rather just a living idea. But ideas were powerful, it shaped worlds and realities with powers not even Dream himself fully possessed. The head was the negative axis, home to unstable thoughts but they were all important even if harmful or evil. The head existed because everything existed. It was necessary.

When Atticus woke, some of him remembered this Dream, others were yet again oblivious. But his kingdom needed him. The day was calling, and Fate was beckoning on the other side of the river once more.

Atticus was called by one of his soldiers to investigate an incident by the shore. It was a popular place for some of the young pups to sneak out and play after dark. But last night was different. Washed up on the shore was a strange creature. It radiated a strong warmth, light pouring from its skin. It was heavy, no one person would be able to lift it.

It was a body made of crystal, hard crystals. Slim but well built, molded out of a perfect frame with every inch. It was tougher than any stones around, even diamonds. It lied there, a corpse rotting away as the sand and water tried fruitlessly to carry it away. The rot was difficult to pinpoint but the cracks were there, making the surface of crystal brittle and ancient. Its eyes were closed tight shut, some of the Cardigans tried to pry its eyes open with their fangs and their claws but ultimately to no avail. It had no mouth, as such one would be tempted to say the creature was merely asleep and not yet a real corpse. A compelling theory, until some of the Cardigans listened into the creature’s mighty chest to find no heartbeat whatsoever. They listened in for a good long minute, the silence of the crystal was the only thing they heard.

“Report, soldiers,” Atticus commanded.

“Deicide, my king,” one of the Pembrokes said. “Murder of a god.”

“How do you know that?”

“None of us could lift the body, milord, even with leverage,” said the soldier, “and the radiation emitting from the body seems toxic to everything else but us.”

“How does that prove this is a body of a god, who killed it?” Asked Atticus. “And how do you know the light is toxic?”

“There in the river, milord. Some of the fish carcasses are floating to the surface after exposure to the light.”

“Curious,” Atticus pondered. “We are not affected? How?”

“I do not know, sir. Why are chocolate toxic to our kinds? Why does the river and its strong waves cry down these pastures? These are difficult questions, my king. Mother nature has always been mysterious.”

“Very well,” said Atticus. “You may label this deicide until further notice. I want a full investigation on this body immediately. Keep an eye out for any unusual signs or behavior, we are not absolutely certain this creature is dead. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Strange things were already starting to occur as the body hit the ground. The waves began crashing on the shorelines more violently, almost as a gesture of warning, asking the creatures of Corginia to stay far away. Inside the kingdom, a strange gloom loomed over the corgis young and old, but there was no sign of the monsters across the river anywhere. The usual shadows were not there, instead something else colder. Following every creature from behind.

The corgis began barking aloud, shrieking and rolling around on the grass, struggling against a force beyond their understanding. They barked out incoherency, saying things that did not make sense. Lines after lines of gibberish nobody could decipher. Sometimes in between all the gibberish were signs of letters of the Alphabet. Projected in the space above their heads as some sort of avatars for greater powers.

That was when the ground started to shake.

The tremor echoed through the heavy plates beneath the earth of the kingdom, tumbling it through countless cycles of madness and twirling, ripping the very soil and grass from their roots. Large termites and worms scurrying off from their homes in the dirt, waves of water came crashing through the cracked soil, floating off to unknown crevices underground. And afar in the distance beyond the blue sky, loud clanking noises of metal were heard clashing against one another, and they roared into the horizon, screeching its pain and the pain of the world.

“Atticus, my king. It’s terrible news.”

“What is it?”

“Corginia… the train car, our train car, it’s been knocked out of balance and off the train track.”

“Impossible.”

The sky continued to shake and rumble on, even more violently. Thunders crackled in the distance, and heavy raindrops descended from the clouds, these raindrops were too heavy for any mortal to lift. Once it struck the ground – it cracked the rocks wide apart.

“The train still continues to run, milord,” said the soldier. “Even with our car being flung out of balance. It’s dragging our whole world through the desert’s sand. Running at speeds beyond thought.”

“Gather the women and the pups and evacuate immediately,” Atticus ordered. “Stay away from the tall buildings… gather by the temple. It is a place of refuge and safety. It will not fall.”

The sun began to quickly set, the hand of Fate no longer beckoned Atticus as the day started to fall and the sun started to crack. The river was crying. On the one end, the light of the moon sparkled with the beauty of darkness shimmering by the purple twilight illuminating the crystals of the water. On the other end, a body of fire, a star, a power in the sky so large and heavy it pulled in other celestial bodies nearby. Its light was bright and burning, burning the surface of the water, an incomprehensible combination. But the fire burned regardless, leaving the once cold surface of the crying river a bed of raging flowers eating away at the water molecules.

Time distorted. Weeks transformed into mere days, the afternoon morphed into the morning.

And there beyond the horizon, in the far infinite distances of the stars and heavenly bodies, the train continued to race forward, dragging alongside the collapsing Corginia.

“Atticus, my king. It’s terrible news.”

“What is it?”

“The Primordial Alphabet,” said the soldier. “They demand to see you.”

A million thoughts began racing through Atticus’s head. And in those thoughts, he could feel their probing fingers in his mind.

“Bring me to them.”

Even before Atticus was brought before the Alphabet, he could feel their cosmic presence plaguing the minds of his people. They were big, bigger than anything Atticus had ever felt. In some ancient tomes of Corginia’s temples they were described as heavier than galaxies at the minimum. It was difficult to believe, and even harder to imagine, but here in their presence, here under the shadows that were bigger than the monsters’, the overwhelming divine feeling had forever set the record straight. They were not bigger than galaxies – they were bigger than universes.

“Lord T would like to speak to you my king.”

And thus, Atticus stepped forth and bowed down, a king in front of a god.

“ _Atticus, king and uniter of Corginia. You have been caught in the middle of something your mere mortal mind cannot understand. You see, the sky cracks open, and the sea boils. Sunsets and sunrises are one and the day becomes long. Here this world suffers chaos and turmoil in a degree not even Lord G, Lord O, Lord L, and Lord B can fully comprehend._ ”

“What can we do then, your grace?” Atticus beseeched, “Please help my people and my kingdom. They are all I have.”

“ _You cannot do anything, Atticus – king of Corginia,_ ” thus said Lord G. “ _We approach a moment of new transition, a moment of rematerialization to an obsolete age of old creatures and machines. Creatures and machines your mind does not even remember, or think possible to have existed. Here in this transition, you will witness the conflict of the godheads. The three godheads, struggling with duality and selves.”_

“I… I do not understand,” said Atticus.

“ _Do not try to understand,”_  thus said Lord L. “ _Live – live on and know the train will be shortly back on track once more, pulling Corginia back with it. For the collapse of Corginia has happened and has never happened at the same time.”_

“Then are you commanding me to do nothing?” Asked Atticus.

“ _No!”_  Thus said Lord B, “ _Observe. Yonder where the hand of Fate beckoned you, across the river that cried down these green pastures.”_

There above the sky where nothingness resided, over Beyond space and the infinite amount of celestial bodies beneath it, there a hole ripped wide open and behind it a strange spacecraft looking object came crashing through, burning through a thick sheet of metal, erupting in supernovas. The object came down from the heavens and landed over the other side of the river, where the hand of Fate once again beckoned Atticus. The loud thud on the cracking soil was clear. And the hard dirt of the tumbling earth came erupting upwards like a fountain, a volcano, a geyser, or all of them.

The eyes of the murdered god flung wide open the moment the spacecraft came crashing down, vibrating through the plate of the earth. The corgis were startled, and they scattered. The murdered god stood on its feet, tall and strong. Its crystal skin was still brittle and weak from previous eras, it was still a god, but it was legend no more.

“My Lords,” said Atticus. “I implore you to tell me – what is that creature?”

“ _A powerful machine – it is known as the Overseer,”_  thus said Lord T.

“What is it doing here in this realm?” Asked Atticus.

“ _It seeks the one called the Artist.”_

“Where is this so-called Artist?”

“ _That does not matter, no place is too big for Dream. What matters is that the Overseer is curious,”_  thus said Lord T. “ _The moment of new transition woke it from its slumber. Perhaps slumber is the wrong word for it. Hibernation, self-maintenance, complacency and so on. It will be curious of the crash, the mysteries surrounding it, the potential. It will probe around to salvage everything it deems valuable.”_

“Is… that bad?” Asked Atticus, “Should we stop it?”

“ _Do you think it can be stopped? Do you think YOU can stop it? Do you think there are any reason to stop it?”_

“I… um… I… I don’t know.”

“ _Let us wait and see what the Overseer makes of this new mystery it hungers for. It sees the mystery, the gold crafted beyond the stars by the Artist. And thus, the reason why it wants to find the Artist.”_

“What happens when they meet?” Asked Atticus.

“ _Something exciting? Something disappointing? I cannot tell you, Atticus, king of Corginia,”_  thus said Lord T. “ _It is neither the time nor place to reveal. So I bid thee farewell King Atticus. Now sleep – return to Dream and return to the place where you belong. Where the hand of Fate beckons you.”_

And in that split second, Atticus slept.

In Dream he wandered off once more, looking for answers for things he had seen. Imploring Dream for meanings he could not understand.

But this time Dream did not need to move a finger.

At the center of emptiness where the floating heads were, there on top of the second godhead – there she stood.

“ _Hi, Atticus…_ ”

The corgi king glanced above the godhead. She looked young, and crafty. A mortal flesh would be tempted to underestimate her. But she was big, bigger than most things. Atticus knew she was merely shrinking down to a comprehensible size to interact with things in the lower dimensions.

“Um… greetings,” said Atticus. “I am Atticus, King and uniter of…”

“… _the Cardigans and the Pembrokes. I know,”_  she beamed at the little corgi.

“How did you…”

“ _We’ve met before,”_  she explained. “ _But we’ve never technically met. In a different time, or in a different place… or both. The moment of new transition has passed, we’re moving to the final phase now, in preparation to begin a new era.”_

“Today has been very strange for me,” said Atticus. “Deicide they said, the murder of a god they said, and yet the Overseer still lives on, it is still looking, still probing, out there, salvaging whatever it can.”

“ _Gods are difficult to truly kill,”_  she said. “ _You may be able to kill a single era, or a single perspective of an infinitely larger whole, but eventually those aspects would just be replaced by others. Either by necessity or through enthusiasm.”_

“But who killed the Overseer?”

“ _Why do you want to know?”_  She smiled. “ _It’s not like you’re going to be able to take them to court. Gods are hard to kill. You don’t kill them the same way mortals murder each other. They die through judgement, or through belief, or through the passage of the eras, or a combination of all three, or none.”_

“What about you?” Asked Atticus. “Are you hard to kill, too?”

“ _Perhaps,”_  she shrugged. “ _My final battle is nearing. The battle with the other godheads. The end of the war, the end of our conflict, the defining of the selves. An infinite number of universes squeezed down into my palm and condensed into mere hundreds of years of battles, of adventures. Millions of selves and millions of adventures. All real and not real at the same time.”_

“Why are they not real?”

“ _Many reasons. First is the probing of the Overseer which may restrict some realities, and second is out of respect for the Artist. But rest assured, they are still real. Some other universes cry out to different masters, different Overseers even. Some universes are under the thumbs of immortal axolotls, some serve gods of evil heavier than the multiverse, some are even under the mercy of wish masters. And still at the end of the day – still real here… in one capacity or another._ ”

The other two heads were silent and still. Their skin hardened into a primordial form of stone, preserving their energy and dimensions inside. The train still marched on, surrounding the heads, like a snake biting its own tail.

_“I’m going to see you again very soon, Atticus. And when we do… some of you may remember me. Many of you, though, probably won’t.”_

“Is that good?” Atticus asked. “Will I be of use? Will I be important?”

“ _Could be good,”_  she shrugged. “ _Could be bad. It’s impossible to know. Follow the beckoning of Fate, dear Atticus. Walk on the shore by the river that’s crying down those green pastures. I’m telling you, you’ll hear the voices of the crashing waves and the call to the other side. From here when I had yet to be me, I cannot see me, as all time gets smashed up and become one time, it is the moment for me to place there that work light for a spider to make its nest and cast its monstrous shadow. You can help out, too, if you wish. Replacing the battery or even replacing with a new light for the next spider to cross by. The infinite cycle, spinning, infinitely, until the day of our final conflict when the godheads make peace with one another.”_


End file.
